Home Sweet Home?
by LadyDivine91
Summary: While spending the first night in their brand new home, Blaine and Kurt come to realize that the old residents may not have exactly left yet. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


_**Written for sunshineoptimismandangels and inspired by the Klaine Valentines 2019 prompt 'You Take My Breath Away' by Queen.**_

"I can't _believe_ we finally got our own home!" Kurt giggles in throwback _baby penguin_ fashion, his inner teenager clawing to the surface to pump a fist in the air in triumph as he climbs underneath the covers beside his husband. With no electricity turn on scheduled till the next afternoon, it's nearly pitch black in their bedroom and cold as sin, but Kurt doesn't care. Blaine's body heat solves the temperature problem, and as for the darkness …

… it could turn out to be _convenient_.

"I know!" Blaine agrees, wrapping his arms around Kurt as he rests his head against Blaine's chest. "Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, guest rooms, a kitchen with a breakfast nook, an office, a den, _and_ a cellar! Except for being a little run down, it's in _amazing_ condition! And it was a _steal_! I can't believe there wasn't a line of people out a mile trying to get their hands on it!"

"Some people are afraid of a little hard work when it comes to houses," Kurt murmurs contentedly into his husband's chest. "I can't blame them. In this market, if you're going to sink hundreds of thousands of dollars into a property, why buy a fixer-upper? It's like buying someone else's problems."

"Or their _mistakes_."

"Mm-hm. But my father always said _buy the worst house in the best neighborhood and make it your own_. And I trust my dad more than anyone."

"So do I." Blaine grins, mentally thanking his father-in-law for his advice … and for so much more, including this angel in his arms. "And there's so much _room_! Other houses we saw at this price range were almost a third the size. At this rate, we won't need to move after we have kids unless we want to."

"Who would want to? We're in such a good neighborhood, within walking distance to one of the best schools in the city, parks, museums, _culture_! Nope. I'm not moving," Kurt declares, snuggling his husband tighter, burrowing symbolically into everything that represents home to him. "You're going to be burying me in this house because I'm staying!"

"Then I'm going to be buried right next to you," Blaine says, leaning down for a kiss.

"Aw, Mr. Ander-Hummel. That's the most romantic thing you've ever said. Or the creepiest."

"Let's stick with romantic and go from there," Blaine suggests, slipping cold hands underneath his husband's long-sleeved flannel shirt. Kurt squirms at the touch, but retaliates with an even more frigid hand down his husband's pants.

"Ooo!" Blaine yelps, shivers running down his spine. But only one of those is from the invasion on his warm skin. A handful are from something else, something he hears with his whole body – a faint but clear _creak_ coming from downstairs in the general location of the kitchen. Kurt wraps his fingers around him and starts to stroke, but Blaine goes still, ears straining to catch a hint of that noise should it come around again.

"What … what's wrong?" Kurt asks when Blaine doesn't start bucking up into his fist.

"D-did … did you hear that?" Blaine stutters. He pictures the kitchen in his head: painted bright yellow with windows all around that let in tons of sunlight during the day, and a white-washed door that leads to their back yard. It's a decent amount of space for being located right outside a major city. Kurt plans on turning it into a garden. It's fenced in with a locked gate. Sure someone could climb it, but why go through the trouble when so many other houses don't have a fence?

As far as Blaine remembers, he locked the back door and the windows, secured the shutters and pulled the drapes. Coming from the city, they even put a brace against the doorknob for extra protection, even though the few neighbors they've met claim the neighborhood is so safe, you could forget to lock your doors and you'd be fine.

Could the neighbors be playing up the safety of the place so that he and Kurt wouldn't have second thoughts?

Is there a chance he forgot a window?

Blaine was in such a hurry to get upstairs and ready for bed, could it have slipped his mind?

Could someone have snuck in? Are they now prowling around the kitchen, on their way into the living room and up the stairs to where Kurt and Blaine lay in bed, completely unaware that a killer is loose in their house!?

"Hmm? No," Kurt mutters, kissing a path of distraction down Blaine's neck. "What did it sound like?"

"It sounded like …" Blaine gulps hard, Kurt's kisses doing their job well except for one icy prickle at the base of his neck that's telling him they're not alone "… footsteps … downstairs … i-in the kitchen."

"It's probably the house settling." Kurt starts on the buttons to Blaine's pajama top, misinterpreting his trembling for excitement. "Old houses do that all the time. When I first moved into the basement of our old house, it was a _nightmare_. The wood creaking and moaning …"

Blaine's eyebrows lift. Despite his bone-chilling fear, he grins. "Moaning, huh?"

"Yeah." Kurt hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Blaine's pants and gives them a tug down. "Or … our house could be _haunted_." Kurt snickers, nibbling Blaine's earlobe while his hands creep up his shirt. "New England style house in a historic neighborhood? Maybe we're living with the ghost of Paul Revere, hmm? Preparing for his epic ride? The British are _coming_ …" Those words fall against Blaine's collarbone, _coming_ dancing across his skin like the fractured edge of burgeoning orgasm. "The British are _coming_ …"

Blaine responds with soft gasps and hums, at a loss for a coherent comeback with the word _coming_ ringing through his ears in Kurt's silvery tenor.

"Maybe we should start making some noise of our own. Drown him out."

"Yeah," Blaine agrees, the potential of a serial killer climbing their stairs to slaughter them in their Laura Ashley sheets replaced by memories of his husband's sinful noises, his pleading for _more_, his whimpering when he's so so close. "Maybe we should."

Kurt doesn't need to be told twice. Actually, he didn't need to be told _once_. He already has Blaine's pants pulled down to mid-thigh, grinding his crotch down over him, teasing his cock with the soft flannel of his pajama pants until Blaine starts to moan.

"Ooh, Kurt," he whines, reaching for Kurt's kisses with his hungry mouth while Kurt pins him down with his body. "Ooh … ooh … oh, God … ooh …"

_"Ooh ooh ooh ooh …"_

A haunting voice rises up from the corner of the room, shadowing Blaine's every time he moans. Kurt doesn't seem to notice, but Blaine does, since the echo doesn't sound like him at all.

"Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Stop for a moment," Blaine commands. "Just … stay quiet."

"Oh …" Kurt smirks, misunderstanding. "That's the way you want to play it. Okay. I can be quiet. I won't … make … a sound …"

"No," Blaine says, his brain crying, his erection aching, his entire body begging, '_Yes_!'. "No, that's not what I mean."

Kurt frowns at his husband, beyond frustrated. "Then what do you …?"

_"Ooh ooh …"_

Kurt's head pops up like a rabbit's in the snow, sensing the presence of an approaching fox.

_"Ooh ooh …"_

In the corner of the room, a blue light simmers, cutting through the dark with its stark brightness. Blaine sees it face forward, over Kurt's back, but Kurt sees it in the reflection of Blaine's eyes. Both men gulp hard as the light pulses and the moaning continues.

_"Ooh ooh ooh …"_

_…_

_"Ooh ooh ooh …"_

_…_

Kurt turns slowly, looks over his shoulder. The blue light strobes but only for a second. Then it blinks out of existence.

But the moaning continues.

Only it's not moaning, Kurt realizes first.

It's _singing_.

_Ooh ooh ooh take it take it all away_

_Ooh ooh ooh ooh - ooh take my breath away – ooh_

_Ooh ooh ooh ooh_

_Ooh you take my breath away_

Kurt sighs, relief seeping into a bubbly laugh. "Blaine! It's just Alexa! It's playing music!"

"Okay but no one said _Alexa_," Blaine insists. "It woke up on its own!"

"They've been known to do that. I read about it on Twitter."

"Now it's playing _Queen_! No one asked for Queen!"

"It's in your cloud. Alexa chose it at random. It's got some decent taste." Kurt chuckles. "And an impeccable sense of romantic timing. It's either the best wingman ever or the worst …"

A loud _thunk_ stops Kurt's commentary in its tracks. He rises up again, listening for the origin of the noise, sounding like a baseball cracked by a bat. He can't determine where the noise came from, but he knows this.

The music has stopped.

"Alexa?" he calls out as if the device were a real live person in the room with them. When it doesn't respond, he crawls to the end of the bed in search of it. "Alexa? Why did you stop …?"

He doesn't finish his question.

That's okay. He doesn't need Alexa to answer.

He knows what that _thunk_ was.

It was Alexa, no longer sitting on the floor in the corner of the room but now rolling on its side against the far wall … over ten feet away.

"How the hell …?" Kurt looks questioningly at Blaine, sitting up and peeking past Kurt, seeing what Kurt sees. He shakes his head in subconscious response.

"It was on the floor," Kurt explains needlessly. "How could it …?"

_Crash_!

Their bedroom window breaking sends Kurt scrambling to the head of the bed. He dives underneath the covers, pulling the comforter over his and Blaine's head to protect them from flying glass.

"OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod!"

"Shhh!" Blaine holds his husband tight to stop him from shaking to pieces. "Shhh! Try to keep quiet! We don't want anyone knowing we're here!"

Kurt nods, fighting anxiety to bite his lips shut and lie still as stone to wait for the aftermath - another crash, crunching glass, cruel laughter, the squeal of tires peeling down the street.

Nothing else comes, not even a breath of wind. It had been howling outside before they'd retired, but there isn't a whisper of it now. Kurt's breathing slows and Blaine's follows. After ten more seconds of silence, they peek out from beneath the covers to inspect the damage.

But there is none.

The windows are intact, locked to their sills, their shutters drawn, just like the ones downstairs.

And with the absence of Alexa's blinking blue light, the room is pitch black again.

"Oh _hell_ no!" Kurt yells. "Do not tell me we moved into a haunted house!"

"It is Boston," Blaine says, eyes scanning the room with vigilance. "The odds were pretty high, all things considered."

Kurt leaps out of bed and heads for the light switch. "I'm not sleeping in the dark with a _ghost_!"

"Kurt!" Blaine reaches for his husband, grabbing for an arm, a leg, anything before he runs off too far. "We don't have electricity!"

Kurt stops a foot from the bedroom door, eyes wide as saucers when he sees it's not closed all the way, the chill breeze running through the house from a leak somewhere causing it to swing forward and back by inches, revealing glimpses of an ink black hallway. "_Shit_!" he says, bolting back to the safety of the bed. "I forgot!"

"Wh-what should we do?" Blaine asks, eyes shifting side to side, on high alert for whatever else might happen, what furniture may fly … or what phantom might phase through the walls.

"Candles!" Kurt says, opening the drawers to the dresser beside the bed and rummaging through them blindly. "And flashlights! Find every one you can and light it! Tomorrow I'm going to call that realtor and rip her a new one! No wonder she worked so hard to sell us on this place, bend over backward for all our demands, how flippin' eager the sellers were to drop the price at every turn! Even my dad said we went from tour to escrow quicker than anyone he's ever known in his _life_!"

"D-do you think we should get proof? So she'll believe us? Should we try to take a picture of it?" Blaine picks his cell phone up off the bedside table and switches on the camera app. "If nothing else, that might tell us what we're dealing with."

Kurt stares at his husband with the round blue eyes of a frightened foal. "Is that a picture you want to see!?" he squeals.

Blaine looks at his blank phone screen. He imagines taking a picture of the space above their bed and seeing the ghoulish, twisted face of some ungodly creature. It might be there right now; staring at him in amusement; sharp, blood-stained teeth gnashing inches from his head; but at least he doesn't have to look at it.

"Nope," Blaine decides, switching to his flashlight app instead. "Not in the slightest."


End file.
